by Fox Brison
“Excuse me, Georgia, what’s the rule? When you’re in a locker room or wearing tennis clothing, I’m coach, not Mum.”
“Sorry, coach.” And there it was, the sarcastic challenge to the dual role my mother held in my life. It was growing, the edge, the resentment I felt for the woman whose sole purpose in life seemed to be endless fault finding. I’d spent my entire life aspiring for the heights only to hear ‘if only you applied yourself, you could do so much better.’ Perhaps a golden slam in a calendar year would satisfy my mother’s expectations, although I suspected not even that would suffice.
Not for the first time I wished my Mum was that, simply my Mum and I had someone else for a coach. I’d had endless dreams where I sat across from her and pointed the Sir Alan Sugar ‘you’re fired’ finger in her face. However, there was no way I could do that in real life, not without causing a shake that would register a 5.4 on the Richter scale of women’s tennis; my mother was, after all, the great Helen Maskel, British Fed cup captain and tennis coach extraordinaire, in her own mind anyway.
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. You have Jessica Arnez in the next round. You play like that and she’ll wipe the floor with you. And where will you be then?”
“On the plane home?” I said matter-of-factly. I didn’t want this. I loved tennis, loved the game, loved the feeling of complete and utter exhaustion at the end of a tough three sets in Melbourne. I did not love my mother’s barrages of condescending judgement after a match, or during training, or over the rare Sunday lunches when the three of us, me, Mum and Dad, would actually spend time together outside the tennis bubble.
“You truly are a selfish little brat. I gave up everything, everything for you!” And here it was, my mother’s equivalent of an Oscar wining speech mixed with a splash of stereotypical Jewish mother seen in a Hallmark true movie special. “And I deserve this lack of respect?” I was surprised it had taken this long to get out the big guns. The few other players still milling around the locker room exited quickly and quietly. Everyone on tour, from players, to officials, to coaches, knew how volatile my Mum could be, especially when she thought I hadn’t lived up to the impossible standards she set. The legendary tale of how a row of lockers in Cincinnati all bore the same footmark from where she’d kicked each and every one of them after I’d been beaten in the final by a qualifier, lost nothing in its retelling.
“Coach, I’m sorry, I promise I’ll do better.” My rote apology was interrupted by a familiar ringtone.
“Jesus, that friend of yours is like a bitch on heat. Can’t she leave you alone for five minutes?” she barked.
I bit back an angry retort. My mother despised the closeness Julia and I shared and I knew that if I answered the call, or even worse defended Jules, it would only add a gallon of kerosene to the glowing ember of her fury, turning the usual post-match fire into an inferno of the towering kind. “It isn’t Jules, it’s Dad. I skyped him a few minutes ago.” I wiped the sweat from the back of my neck.
“Oh here we go with your precious father again. It’s alright to lose Georgia,” she whined in a sing song voice, “just try your best.” A trainer was launched violently into the air and I closed my eyes, hoping that a repeat of Cincinnati was not on the cards. I didn’t want the headlines, nor the plane ride of silent condemnation that followed.
Australia was a hell of a lot further home than America.
My mother continued, oblivious to my turmoil. It was either that or she just didn’t care. She lived her life vicariously through me, an almost jealous need for me to succeed, to prove to the world that she herself could have been world class. “Where would you be if you’d listened to him all your life? Nowhere, that’s where. Another statistic on obesity sat in front of the television stuffing your face on take away every night. Or worse, stuck in some desk job in the city wishing you’d put the effort in when you were younger. You’re finally on the cusp of the top thirty two, which means no more qualifications. You can’t afford to listen to his mollycoddling mithering!”
“Leave Dad out of this!” I worshipped my father and if there was one thing I wouldn’t tolerate, it was my mother’s constant harping at him, her constant criticism of him and his decisions. Nothing was ever right, nothing was ever good enough.
“Your Dad? God if you only knew!”
“Knew what?” I asked angrily.
“Never mind.” she waved off my question – as usual. “Listen, I was the one who gave up my career to have you, I was the one who nurtured you and trained you and I was the one who made sure you ate right, kept fit and avoided injuries. What has he ever done for you, except give you an excuse to lose, just like him?”
“Don’t you dare speak about him like that!” I hissed coldly. My frustrations regarding our relationship, or rather lack of one, had been simmering for months now, actually for years, and I didn’t know if it was the exhaustion speaking, or just the way my mother denigrated my father with such contempt it practically dripped from her venomous fangs, but I snapped. “I hate this. I’m sick to death of this constant pressure, of never doing anything right. I’m sick of you always finding me worthless. Dad doesn’t care about my career or my ranking, all he wants is for me to be happy. You only care how many games I win, how my backhand can improve, what my first serve percentage is. I’ve never been just your daughter. It’s like I was bred to prove how good you could have been. But this is my life, Mum, mine!” My phone rang again, and this time there seemed to be more urgency to the tone, but again I ignored it. I was finally saying what I’d wanted to say for years, only I’d been too much of a coward to do so. “I’m glad I’m like Dad. I’m glad, no… no wait, I’m ecstatic I’m nothing like you. I’ve got compassion and empathy and I thank God every day that I got those traits from him, that I’m not an emotional fucking automaton like you!”
“You got nothing from your sainted Dad, he’s not your father!” My mother screamed her response, angry words that filled the empty changing rooms. We were both panting, the rasping breaths of fury linking the two of us with a chain far stronger than genetics. She suddenly shuffled uncomfortably and her cheeks, already reddened from the angry exchange, seemed to brighten even further. She realised her mouth had gotten away from her.
My heart stopped beating.
Wait. What? I can’t have heard that right, I must have made a mistake. “I… what? What did you just say...?”
“Nothing, get changed, you have a press conference in ten minutes.” She quickly looked around but thankfully the locker room was empty.
“No,” I said quite calmly, suddenly detached from the heightened emotions that only seconds before choked the room. “What. Did. You. Say?”
“He’s not your father.”
Oh, dear God I hadn’t misheard. My breath became ragged, yet seeing the almost negligent toss of my mother’s head as she said those four little words did little to help me assimilate the stark revelation.
He’s not your father.
There was no sugar coating, and certainly no warning, just four words that decimated my world.
He’s not your father.
Chapter 34
Georgia
I left Emma’s clinic and went into autopilot mode, not willing to spend more than a few fleeting seconds assessing what had transpired during our last session. It had left both of us a little stunned for entirely different reasons. I was stunned because I’d finally told someone my devastating secret.
And Emma?
Well she was stunned for a variety of reasons, I guess. She could never have predicted the truth for one thing. The fact that she cursed when she said at the end, “Fuck, I did not see that one coming,” demonstrated just how startled she was.
But the memories were knocking on the door, and they only allowed me to escape for a short period before they cornered me and pounded me into submission. My breath was slow and steady, which surprised me, and a calmness slowly shrouded me. My mind fixed on the journey ahead, muscle memory now m
y friend as I changed gears and flicked the indicator.
Eventually, I pulled over into a layby not far from Emma’s house, and let my head fall back on the headrest. My eyes were closed and the soothing hum of the cars passing me by were a lullaby.
Until my mother’s face filled with loathing appeared in a mist on the back of my eyelids.
I sat up sharply, my breath hissing through tight lips as I tried to control it. I needed…
“Hey, it seems I have an hour free. Do you fancy meeting for a coffee?” I said to Julia when she finally answered. I didn’t know if I actually wanted company, but I knew for sure I didn’t want to be alone.
I’d been alone for far too long now.
My body was still tingling, my mind still reeling from the last twenty minutes.
“I’d love to,” Julia said hesitantly.
“But you’re busy,” I anticipated. “No worries. I’ll catch you later.” I hung up. I didn’t want Jules to hear the disappointment or the desperation in my voice. My phone rang, but for the second time in as many weeks, I ignored Julia’s smiling face.
“It’s just too much. I just can’t…” I began to cry, softly at first.
Then I pulled away and drove - and drove and drove.
Chapter 35
Emma
“Hang on, hang on!” The pounding and ringing woke me from a restless sleep, one which had featured my desk and an irate young tennis player.
And no clothes.
I raced down the stairs, still fiddling with the belt to my dressing gown when I reached the front door. Seeing Dana and Julia outside, I hurried to unlock it. “Dana-”
“What the fuck did you do?” Julia pushed passed me and marched forward until she came to the kitchen. She spun on her heels and stared daggers at me.
Dana followed her and gave me a kiss on the cheek as she went. “Give her a break,” she whispered as she did so.
“Give her a break?” I barked. “It’s five o’clock in the bloody morning!”
“Yes it is and we haven’t slept all night.”
“Well bully for you, you have a sex life now. Whoopity do.” I said my voice rising in displeasure. I really wasn’t a morning person.
“Mum?” Lawrie called from the top of the stairs. “Mum, is everything okay? What’s Aunty Dana doing here?”
“Everything’s fine, sweetie,” Dana shouted. “You get yourself back to sleep, okay?”
“Okay.” He was still drowsy so didn’t do his usual twenty questions routine.
“Jules, darling, you need to calm down.” Dana entered the kitchen and pulled Julia into a hug. “How about some coffee from that fancy contraption of yours?” she prompted me.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that she had inserted herself, subtly, between Julia and myself. I pulled the collar of my dressing gown tighter. What on earth was going on? Coffee sounded a good idea, if only to give my sluggish brain a jolt; even the hammering on the door wasn’t enough for that at five am.
“Calm down?” Julia’s voice was muffled. “Baby, my best friend is missing. Has been for the last fifteen hours. No one knows where she is and her phone is turned off. The last person she saw was this one,” she pointed at me, “and the last person she spoke to was me, asking if I could meet her. I should have realised then something was wrong!”
Dana kissed the top of Julia’s head, “If you’d known she was-”
“If I’d known I wouldn’t have blown her off with a lie!”
“Have you called the police?” I busied myself making coffee trying not to cry or be sick. Both actions were nearing reality.
“Yes, they said they can’t do anything for a minimum of forty-eight hours. She’s an adult and clearly left of her own free will. They said… oh God they asked…” Julia couldn’t hold back the tears. “They asked if I thought she might hurt herself.” Dana pulled her into an even tighter hug and I slumped onto the stool. “She wouldn’t would she?” Julia asked. “You saw her yesterday, didn’t you? She wouldn’t do anything stupid, right?”
“Why’s everyone crying? Who died?” The sound of raised voices had brought Lawrie down from his bedroom.
“Lawrie!” I admonished.
“What?” he said huffily.
“George has gone missing,” Jules said bluntly when I wished she would have been a tad more circumspect.
“George? She’s not missing, I spoke to her last night,” he began fiddling with his phone; it was like an extra appendage glued to his hand.
“What time?” Julia jumped off her stool.
“Well I didn’t speak to her, I texted,” he looked at me guiltily. “I texted and asked if she could give me a tennis lesson this evening. I know you said no, Mum, but I like her. She’s a great coach.”
Julia ignored the conversation going on between me and my son. “What time, kid, and what did she say?”
“About eightish, she said she had to go to…” he scrolled through his phone messages, “Eastbourne. What’s in Eastbourne?”
“Oh God! Beachy Head!” I sat down heavily on my stool. “I pushed her too far.” Damn me and my pride. I wanted to be her person, to solve the conundrum that was Georgia Maskel to give her back her glory days, instead all I achieved in doing was to force a confession she wasn’t ready to make and screw her up even more.
In the back of my mind was the notion that I only did it because once she was cured we could either say goodbye…
Or.
And yes, the or terrified me.
“It’s worse than that,” Julia whispered. “She bought a house there when she won her first serious money. Her mother never liked the place, but Georgy and her father would spend every minute of their spare time there. She called it home.”
“I’ll drive,” Dana said.
“Give me a minute,” I said, “and I’ll go and get dressed.”
“No, bubs, you have patients and, Emma, you’ve got Lawrie to think about. I’ll be alright.” Julia kissed Dana’s cheek. “Plus Georgy wouldn’t thank me if I turned up with half the psychiatrists in Cambridgeshire in tow.”
“Are you sure?” Dana and I asked at the same time.
“Yes.” Julia hesitated and I saw her jaw tighten as she gritted her teeth. She was still obviously angry with me, but not nearly as angry as I was with myself, but she kept her tone civilised. It was more than I would’ve been able to given the circumstances “Emma, I’m sorry for barging in, but I’m glad I did.” With that she left.
“Bed, Lawrie.” I ordered.
“Can I?” he left the question hanging as he peered closer at me. “Hey, Mum, are you still crying? Why are you still crying? Aunty Dana? Why is Mum crying?”
“She’s worried about a friend that’s all, but everything’s going to be okay, okay?”
“Okay,” Lawrie started to leave before he raced back and put his arms around my neck “I love you, Mum. I’m sorry, well you know, about saying I wanted to go and live with Dad. I didn’t, I mean I wouldn’t have gone even if he’d have wanted me to.” I held my son tightly and he did the same.
“I love you too, Lawrence, more than anything. Now get back to bed. Didn’t I hear you saying you had a chemistry test to revise for this holiday?” He rolled his eyes at Dana the way only teenagers can.
“She’s feeling better,” he said and with the resilience of a rubber ball, bounced back up to his room.
“She’s going to be fine, George I mean. Jules won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I know, I just still can’t believe I pushed her so hard.”
“Sometimes patients need a little push.”
“A little, yes, but I practically bulldozed her. I should have stopped after the first couple of sessions, but by then I was in too deep.” I still couldn’t admit that my attraction for George may have affected my professional judgement. I just hoped that my recklessness hadn’t triggered any dire consequences and she was alright.
“Look we don’t know why she went to Eastbourne, it co
uld be nothing to do with your session. We might all be worrying over nothing. Jules has a tendency for, hmm, shall we say overdramatising things? Let’s take a deep breath and wait till she brings George home before we start the self-persecution.”
I laughed. Weakly, but I laughed. Dana was a great person to have in a storm. “You’re right as always. I bow down to you, Yoda. Speaking of Jules, you two seem serious.”
“Yes. For the moment anyway.”
“It looked like more than a moment,” I teased, but my breath hitched. The tears weren’t far from the surface.
“She’s much younger than me, Em. I don’t know,” Dana shrugged, suddenly seeming unsure of herself. “I kinda thought I’d missed the boat, but Jules makes me think it’s possible to sail into the sunset and have a happy ever after.”
“Wow, I was actually pulling your leg. Talk about www.uhaul at the ready.co.uk. Can anyone say lesbian cliché?”
“Being upset seems to release your inner wit,” Dana took a sip of coffee. “I wouldn’t rule it out. I wasn’t looking for it, for her, but she snuck under my radar and, quite frankly, she makes me laugh and feel good. It’s early days but it feels right… she feels right for me.” She held her arms outstretched. “Ignore me, I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s five-thirty in the morning and I’ve only had one cup of coffee.”
“It’s sweet, Dana, and I’m pleased for you.” I smiled.
“But enough about me. I recognise deflection when I see it Dr Myers. What really happened yesterday?”
I added some milk to my coffee, more for something to do than because I actually wanted it. What really happened? Good question. The breakthrough George made was epic, but it was such a stunning revelation I had been left on the back foot and certainly wasn’t prepared enough to find the words to help George seek the resolution she needed. She left without either of us saying much, apart from my expletive response, her making another appointment and then both of us saying a swift goodbye.
